


Blanket (Trope Bingo 1)

by evil_whimsey



Series: 2012 Trope Bingo (Multifandom) [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 23:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_whimsey/pseuds/evil_whimsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps Ed was right about the hypothermia;  all Roy was capable of concluding was that in this moment, Edward Elric was every inch the weapon Roy had made him.</p>
<p>(Entry for the "Blanketfic" trope.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blanket (Trope Bingo 1)

"So. Can you maybe explain to me, the point where this went from 'training exercise' to massive goatfuck?" Ed's voice growled out of the shadows, followed shortly by a dusty bundle, thumping into Roy's chest and collapsing into his lap. " 'Cause y'know, I'd sure hate to jump to conclusions _again_."

Between the sudden cloud of dust and his chattering teeth, Roy's sigh came out nothing like he'd intended. He stuck a hand into the bundle; heavy and thick, woolen texture. "What is this?"

Ed's boots thumped across the floor again, still investigating the perimeters of their shelter. "Blanket. Put it on." His voice was something beyond temper, deeper than the short-fused frustrations that lit him off daily. It was a low, deadly calm that for the moment, gave Roy something other than the needling numb pain in his feet to worry about.

"Fullmetal. You need to understand, I only thought--"  
"Right, of course you _thought_ , that's where it all went wrong. How could I have missed that? Put the fucking blanket on, Mustang."

A sharp snap of anger, defensiveness, and yes, possibly shame briefly shoved back the leaden ache of cold and injury, and Roy seized on it. "Insubordination, Fullmetal. I should like to remind you that--"

Something exploded in the gloom beyond the feeble lamp at Roy's feet. A crash that rattled the cabin floor, a whirl of blood red and blond, and then suddenly Ed was there, in a tight crouch near Roy's knee, white-gloved hands curling to fists on the floor.

Roy's first thought, seeing that pale bruised face contorted in rage, gold eyes tearing into him, heart stuttering on a beat, was, _I am going to die_. And then the next heartbeat saw Ed swallow his anger, and all that whirling reckless fury leeched out to the coldest calculating utter stillness and Roy knew, _My god I am actually going to die_.

"Colonel Mustang, I respectfully submit that you don't have a fucking leg to stand on right now." Ed's voice as chill and dusty as the floor beneath them, so much softer than the storm still howling outside, and yet it drowned out every other sound. "You're injured, approaching hypothermic, and it's raining solid goddamn ice outside. We won't know for sure until morning, but I think we can assume the body count out there has already exceeded acceptable limits for a training exercise. So I will advise you. Again. In the strongest possible terms. Get that blanket around you, while it can still do you some damn good."

Perhaps Ed was right about the hypothermia; all Roy was capable of concluding was that in this moment, Edward Elric was every inch the weapon Roy had made him. And if he were to survive, Roy must not, above all else, betray an inkling of his fear at being that weapon's focus.

He let his anger go, let the cold slip back in, he needed the cold right now to keep him sharp. "And what will you do? As the only one of us who can walk, I'd say you're rather a valuable asset."

Ed stared back at him, grim and frozen as the winter landscape outside. Then he snatched the blanket off Roy's lap, shook it out with one sharp snap, and before Roy could flinch away or get an arm up to defend himself, the blanket was over his shoulders, around his back, constricting his arms, and tucked tight around his front.

"You make lousy fucking decisions, worrying about me. I suggest you fix that."

"You're still under contract, Major. It's in the military's best interests, keeping an eye on your welfare." Roy knew it was a mistake before the words were half out of his mouth, and yet pressed on regardless. Though he managed not to flinch, when Ed got a fistful of the blanket and jerked him forward, scorching him with a glare from mere inches away. 

It was like looking down the mouth of a volcano, Roy would remember later. One that would blow any second, incinerate his bones to ash in the space of a single breath. And the thing that would trouble him the longest, in hindsight, was understanding just how afraid he ought to have been, of that volcano, while simultaneously being unable to wrest his eyes from the spectacle.

"I'm not gonna get cold. Y'know why? Because I'm gonna spend the rest of the night thinking of all the ways I'd like fuckin' end you. I don't intend to do that tonight, I intend to get home to Al and not go to prison for murder, but if you don't stop talking I might just _forget_ all my intentions. So seriously. In the interests of keeping your limbs attached. Shut. Up."

The blanket was released and Ed whirled off before Roy finished collapsing back against the wall, as limp as if Ed had just wrung him out between two fists. Those boots resumed their thumping pace against the floorboards, a counterpoint to muttered curses and the shifting of clutter around the cabin walls.

Roy shivered, clutched at his blanket and fought the creeping lassitude weighing down his cold eyelids, while the wind blew ticking sleet against the roof.

**


End file.
